For Better or for Worse: The Origins of Hawk Moth
by Fanfic Mommy
Summary: While I watched Episodes 25 and 26: Origins with my six-year-old daughter, I became really interested in the series myself. In these episodes, which explain the heroes' origins, I grew just as excited as my daughter about the clues regarding villain Hawk Moth's possible identity. This story is dedicated to my two children, who always inspire me.
The masked man, clothed in purplish black, held the open locket in his hand, as he had done so many times before. He looked at the beautiful face in the picture, remembering her smile, her laugh, playing with their son…

He gently closed it and caressed the surface with one finger slowly, lovingly, until he remembered his purpose and slid the locket into a small opening inside his costume. "Soon, my love…soon I will have the power to bring you back to me." His face, usually hardened with intensity, softened briefly while he thought of her lovely face, looking up at him again, smiling again, laughing again …

Suddenly, in his thoughts, in his memory, her laughter turned to screams of pain as the car hit theirs. Metal crunched metal, and the screams were silenced.

The man's face reverted to a scowl, then his mouth curved up in a smile of wickedness as he refocused. He heard the gentle fluttering of wings above him, thousands of them, white flashes that gave him hope he would reclaim his former life soon. "My akumas …" he murmured. "You will help me get the Miraculous from Ladybug and Cat Noir, so I can have all the power I need."

As he planned his next attack, another memory came to him, unbidden. It took place right after he lost everything, while he was hurrying to his studio to hide from everyone, especially his grieving son, who looked so much like her. At that time, he had no special powers, no mask, no akumas … only crippling and unbearable anguish. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, elderly Asian man nearby trip and fall on the sidewalk. The masked man's former self had stopped, his instinct back then to help. He followed his natural instincts and stopped, gave the man on the ground his hand, which was accepted gratefully.

"Are you okay?" he said.

"I am now. Thank you, sir," said the Asian man, bowing and retreating quickly with a small smile.

The not-yet-masked man continued on to his studio to sit in the dark alone, the only light coming from one small circular window high above.

The next day, when he returned to his studio, he noticed a small box waiting for him on the table. He knew it had not been there the day before. He looked to make sure nothing else had been touched, then opened the box carefully, and was shocked to see a large white insect fly out, bow, and speak to him. He thought he must be dreaming or hallucinating.

"Greetings, kind sir," said the insect. "I am a kwami, guardian of the Butterfly Miraculous. You have been chosen to continue a tradition started thousands of years ago. For generations, good people such as yourself have been selected to use the magic of the Butterfly Miraculous to help others." The confused man looked back at the box, as if to find some clues as to the origins of the talking insect, and saw it contained a white enamel pin in the shape of a butterfly. Stunned, he gently pulled it out and examined it. It looked like an ordinary, bland piece of jewelry in the dim light of the studio.

"When you pin the butterfly — a Miraculous, or magical item — to your chest, I will enter the jewel and help you gain the power to command all the butterflies in Paris. While you are wearing the pin with me in it, a butterfly will fly into your hand and you can instruct it to touch objects people are holding, and change their moods for the better. For example, if someone around you is sad, you can send a butterfly to make them happy."

"Can I use the powers on myself?" the man asked hopefully.

"Not directly," said the kwami. "It can only be used to help people other than yourself, but its powers, and what you do with those powers, will affect you, for better or for worse."

The man stopped. I am dreaming, he thought. So if I am dreaming, or going crazy, I might as well go with it. What do I have left to lose? "Can the Miraculous do other things, besides giving me the power to make sad people happy?"

"Yes," the kwami said. "The Butterfly Miraculous can take an existing emotion, especially a negative emotion, and twist it into something evil. It can take bad feelings — such as minor hurt, anger, disappointment, or despair — and manipulate a person to do wicked things. It creates a super villain, so to speak."

"Are there others like you?" the man asked, a million ideas popping into his head at once.

"We are everywhere," said the kwami, who seemed ready for and accustomed to this kind of rapid-fire questioning.

"Are there other Miraculous out there? And if so, what can they do?"

"There are many, and they do all sorts of things that, used properly, improve life. However, the two most powerful Miraculous, which contain the power of destruction and the power of creation, need to be handled carefully. If combined, their wearers would have the greatest power in the universe."

"Unlimited power?"

"Unlimited, for better or for worse."

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the man smiled a real smile. If this was a dream or a fantasy, please, may it never end. Here was a way to fix things. Unlimited power. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer … 'til death us do part. But maybe, with his power, there would be no need to part. Maybe he could have the power to raise the dead, to turn back the clock and right what went so very wrong. He pulled out his wife's locket and opened it to look at her face, as he had almost every minute of every day since her death — her face, so much like Adrien's … his poor sweet motherless boy who didn't understand why his father held him at arms' length …

The future villain Hawk Moth pushed away his stormy emotions — fierce love, anger, pity and fear— and said simply, "Tell me more, kwami, so I can begin."


End file.
